


Creak

by Fatlockandfeeding



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fatlock, M/M, Weight Gain, fat appreciation, fat!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:18:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatlockandfeeding/pseuds/Fatlockandfeeding
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oblivious!fat!Sherlock convincing himself and trying to convince others that the straining buttons and seams on his clothes,his slower running and creaking kitchen lab stool aren't because he's gaining weight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Creak

Sherlock bent down over the body Lestrade had called him into look at and grunted at the way his trousers seemed to dig into his belly. Lately they’d all been doing that, and despite how convenient Sherlock had assumed it would be when John first offered to do his laundry for him, he was clearly going to have to start taking over the job again. John was obviously completely incapable of completing the simple task of washing clothes without shrinking them to ridiculous sizes. 

"Look at that muffin top," he heard Donovan sneer, "hanging out of his trousers like that."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and straightened up. “And look at the tension between you and Anderson. Gone back to his wife, has he?”

He took the opportunity to adjust his waistband when she looked away in shame, and then turned to Lestrade. 

"Bit obvious," he said, his tone bored, "our dead man was clearly injected with a parasite of some kind, no doubt his killer thought to lay the blame on his recent trip to Africa, but if you look between his fingers there are clear needle marks there. My money’s on the wife, Gerard. Who else would have access to his hands when he was sleeping?" Sherlock whirled around and headed away, calling back to his doctor. 

"JOHN," he cried, "we’re going to the bakery!"

He suddenly had the craving for a muffin…

Two months later found John and Sherlock chasing after yet another murderer (it was an excellent season for it, Sherlock had noted the night before), and Sherlock found himself gasping for air and staggering. 

"John," he choked out, " _John_!” 

Luckily his partner understood, and sped up, tackling the man they were chasing after and bringing him to the ground. 

Sherlock collapsed to his knees and gasped, his belly trembling and his forehead covered with a thin sheen of sweat. John looked over at him from where he was pinning down the man. 

"You okay?"

Sherlock nodded. “Got to…” he wheezed, “got to quit smoking again.”

Surely that was the reason. 

Sherlock shifted on his lab stool, frowning a bit when he heard it creak. He set down the beaker he’d been holding and pushed his goggles back onto his head. 

"JOHN!"

John came down the stairs in a panic, his gun in his hand. “Sherlock wh -” He frowned. “What is it?”

Sherlock huffed. “You’ve done something to my stool,” he said firmly, “it keeps creaking when I shift my weight.” 

John blinked, and then he let out a small chuckle. “Or your weight’s shifted  _upwards_ , and that’s what’s making it creak.”

Sherlock spluttered. “I beg your pardon?”

John reached over and patted Sherlock’s belly, which was spreading out over his thick thighs, playfully. “You’ve got fat,” he said plainly, and then he squeezed the underside of Sherlock’s belly, which made the detective squawk indignantly and then lean back in his stool, which caused a particularly violent creak, along with a worrying cracking sound. 

John’s eyebrows shot into his hairline, and he cleared his throat. “Um, Sherlock - “

Too late. Sherlock let out a surprised yelp as his stool splintered and cracked beneath him, and landed with an ‘oof’ on his soft, plush arse. He whined and reached around to rub it when he realised in shock that he could grab a handful if fat from it…more than a handful. He got on his hands and knees in order to get up and gasped when he realised that his belly was brushing the ground.

He looked up at John and blinked. “I…I’m  _fat_.”

John smirked and crouched down, reaching beneath Sherlock’s hanging belly and hefting it up. “Yes,” he agreed, “you are.” Then he leaned down and whispered into the shell of Sherlock’s ear. 

"I  _like_  it.”

Sherlock felt the blood rush to his cock, and he swallowed, before looking up at John and grinning. 


End file.
